


Your last serving daughter

by risinggreatness



Series: Circle 'round the sun [29]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risinggreatness/pseuds/risinggreatness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Padmé from a school desk to the throne to the senate floor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your last serving daughter

The water is too cold. Padmé doesn’t like it. It’s safe on the dock, where the sun keeps her warm.

She squirms against father’s hold.

She begged and begged to be taught how to swim in the pretty shining lake, where she sees her own face looking back at her.

In it, she feels small.

“You have to kick, Padmé,” father coaxes.

Mother’s outstretched arms are not so far away. Father lets go; Padmé kicks hard.

She’s scared, but she wants to know what’s below her. Maybe if she looks, she won’t be.

She takes a big breath and sticks her face in. Green plants wave at her and silver fish swim so fast they frighten her. She feels mother grab her and looks up, sputtering.

Laughing gently, “What did you do that for, dear?”

“I had to see!”

Padmé keeps her head under a little longer on the way back to father. The fish slow down and look back at her before swimming away.

“Do they want to know about us too?”

“I don’t doubt it. You know, far more than fish live in the lake.”

In the evening, cozy in an armchair in the library, father reads to her from one of his large old volumes about all the flora and fauna; the history of the gungans and the humans; the mysterious goddesses and gods who created it all.

She dreams about all the world at night.

\----------

School: from the moment she learns there is an entire place devoted to learning and books, Padmé cannot wait to go. She is even more excited when mother and father tell her she may attend early.

Stepping into the dark, cool Academy library, vast and wonderful, she stands agape. So many choices! And she can choose any one she desires! A dry volume yields beautiful illustrations of Shiraya’s gift of light and power to Naboo.

The librarian tells her she may have it for a week. A whole week! She cannot wait to show mother and father.

Padmé finds a quiet spot near the fountain and is nearly through the introduction when she spots a crowd of girls passing her. They do not notice her. She ignores their dismissal, closes her book, and follows. She can take the book home; she cannot take people home.

They form a semi-circle in the contemplation garden. Padmé sits slightly to the side.

The girl, Padmé assumes the leader of the band, speaks with a commanding authority.

“Mother thinks the controversy surrounding Veruna is ridiculous. He can do as he pleases; he’s the one on the throne.”

Padmé flushes. Even as a long-time advisor, father still only calls the King ‘the King.’ The girl is awfully presumptuous.

Padmé does not say a word and the girls break up when the bell rings for class.

\----------

Ruwee is not sure what to make of his daughter’s silent behavior at the dinner table. She pushes her food around her plate, not eating much.

“Have you made any friends?”

She continues to stare down, “I found an interesting book at the–”

“Padmé, don’t avoid the question.”

“Ruwee!” Jobal looks sharply at him, and then back at their daughter, “What’s the book about, dear?”

Ruwee feels ashamed for the tone he took. Both he and Jobal feared this: Padmé has always been a singular child, sending her to school early was a risk, but one they were willing to take. Sending her to school was a surefire way she would at least meet other children.

Padmé speaks animatedly about her book, no mention of any of her classmates.

_Give it time_ , he prays silently to himself.

\----------

She will not chide her daughter to her face, but Jobal shares her husband’s concern about Padmé’s seeming inability to make friends.

She takes matters into her own hands and meets with Padmé’s teachers and the librarians directly. They all speak very highly of her, noting her advanced intellect.

It’s all very well; she and Ruwee _know_ Padmé is bright. Otherwise, why would they have sent her to the Academy two years early, spending its ridiculous fee?

She asks, point-blank, “Does she speak or socialize with other children?”

None of them give her a straight answer.

Finally, one political tutor is forthright ( _the irony_ ) with her.

“I see her with Saché Lago’s circle during recreational hour, although I do not think she is readily included.”

“Not Elsinoré Lago’s daughter?” Jobal blurts out.

No wonder Padmé does not speak of any friends, if that is the girl she chooses to spend her free time with. Although Elsinoré Lago is not the most sycophantic of King Veruna’s advisors, Ruwee does not think much of her.

To the teacher’s credit, she ignores Jobal’s shocked tone and unexpectedly asks a question, “Does Padmé spend any time outside of school with children her own age?”

Years of bringing their daughter to state functions meant she rarely spent time with other children. They were sending her to school early so she could cultivate friendships, as well as her mind. That it might not work had never occurred to the pair of them.

And as for other children at home – well, there precious little chance of that.

She twists at the small icon around her neck.

\----------

In disbelief, “Elsinoré’s daughter?”

“Don’t – don’t be mad at her.”

“I’m not; just disappointed she thinks she can’t tell us.”

Ruwee and Jobal sit on the couch, the fireplace the only light. That she is afraid to tell them who her friends are breaks Ruwee’s heart. He imagined he was not an overbearing parent, but now his politics have damaged his daughter’s life in a way he could never have imagined.

“Can’t tell you what, father?”

He turns to face Padmé, who approaches him with seeming caution.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replies and reaches out to her. “What’s on your mind this late at night, dear?”

She climbs into his lap and he is reminded that although she is wise beyond her years, she is still their baby girl. Jobal moves closer to them, and fingers the hem of Padmé’s nightgown.

Padmé buries her face in his shoulder and whispers, “May have a little brother or sister?”

He is completely blindsided. Jobal looks stricken. She asks for the one thing they cannot give to her.

Finding his voice again, “A brother or sister?”

Padmé, sniffling into his robes, explains, “Because they would be nice and would let me play and talk with them. No one at school does.”

“Your mother says you’re friends with Saché Lago and her friends. Are they not nice to you?”

Padmé pulls back, eyes red-rimmed. “No.”

“Then why do you spend time with them?”

“Because’s Saché’s clever and I need to be clever too.”

Sighing, “Clever does not necessarily mean smart, Padmé. You shouldn’t try to be friends with them if they’re cruel to you. They are not worth your time.”

“But a brother or sister would be a nice and a good, and a smart friend.”

She will be insistent until they tell her the reality of it. Ruwee looks at Jobal; she nods in unspoken consent, her eyes welling up. She pats at Padmé’s loose curls, drawing them back from her face.

“I don’t think that will happen, dear. Mother and I prayed so very long for a child of our own, but we’re not young, and Shiraya blesses the young more readily.”

The fire casts long shadows. In the dark, Ruwee watches Padmé slowly process his words. She moves from confusion, to sadness, to something like resolve.

“I will look for new friends at school.”

She does not speak of siblings again.

Ruwee sighs, “You will be happier in the long run and that is all your mother and I want for you – to be happy.”

He carries her back to bed. Jobal douses the fire behind them; the room goes dark.

\----------

Padmé promises her parents she will find new friends, but cannot shake the habit of following Saché and the other girls around. A part of her still wants to feel what it is like to be one of them and while they do not include her, they do not shun her either.

Saché continues to talk, as if she is the authority on everything. Father is right. Clever does not necessarily mean smart, nor does it mean good.

“You know gungans are practically savage. They only recently stopped capital punishment. Capital punishment–”

Padmé cannot bear it anymore. Quietly, firmly, “You know that isn’t true.”

They all turn around to face her; shocked she dared to speak. Padmé is as surprised as they are.

“I’m sorry?”

Louder, “Gungans have never practiced capital punishment. The King just says that so the Senate will give him more credits for security we don’t need and won’t let our senators vote on anything else.”

The girls look at her, all open mouthed.

Saché regains composure the quickest, though still a little flushed, and speaks in a pinched voice, “Well, one expects this sort of thing from Ruwee Naberrie’s daughter.”

Padmé feels hot spots flare on her cheeks and stands. She’ll find new people to spend her free period with and if she doesn’t, she’ll use it to catch up on her studies.

Though she cannot let Saché have the last word.

“You shouldn’t be so spiteful.”

She turns on her heel. She does not look back to see their reactions.

Her old spot on the fountain waits for her.

While conjugating Sullustese verbs in class, Rabé, who Padmé always thought was closest to Saché, shoots her a small smile.

Padmé feels a little victory.

\----------

The King sends Ruwee to Rodia to reach out to their new ruling clan and renegotiate trade agreements. Padmé stays home; exams and a campaign occupy her time.

Jobal is amazed someone like Silya Shessaun was ever elected to the Galactic Senate. Without money or connections, she had no readily-available resources to run a campaign. Yet she took Thesme by storm.

Ruwee asserts that Senator Shessaun is a good sign. Her kind will not make Naboo more amenable to participating actively in the Republic, but the tired and moneyed have held power for too long.

She understands his meaning. He has spoken for years of running for senate himself; this is his politician’s way of saying ‘no.’ ( _But it is not a forever ‘no.’_ )

Both Jobal and Ruwee wish Padmé was here to absorb this young woman’s spirit and drive. If their daughter is to be elected Queen, she will need fortitude to overturn King Veruna. The people of Naboo are complacent and it will be a hard fight.

Still, Senator Shesaun is not the perfect model Padmé should follow as a politician.

She has no compunction speaking several decibels over everyone at the table. Onaconda takes it good-naturedly, but winces at her more radical claims. If it were more than friends at dinner, she would doom Thesme’s diplomacy several times over. She may be the vanguard of where they believe the Republic should go, but gods help them if she ever heads the revolution.

“Running to become Naboo’s monarch? Doesn’t that seem counterintuitive?”

“It’s no different than Thesme’s Comptroller or Rodia’s Grand Protector. She’d influence what bills are introduced in the Senate and more importantly, get our senators to vote for once. Surely, Senator Shesaun, you could use more allies there”

“Fourteen is very young to run an entire system.” She takes a swig of wine, “And please, call me Silya.”

Jobal diplomatically does not point out that Silya became senator at twenty, but six years makes worlds of difference.

Onaconda leans back, “And she’s running on your old gungan integration platform, isn’t she, Ruwee?” Before her husband can answer, the rodian continues, “I still don’t understand why you’re not running yourself. Or better yet, bypassing the monarch and going to the senate itself.”

Ruwee gives his tired, default answer, “Too old, too unpopular. Even Bibble would be reluctant to see me through to the senate.”

Late night discussions of policy and platforms at the Naberrie household shape Padmé’s campaign. Jobal feared Padmé would be too easily led by Ruwee’s politics. She sees the skeleton of a councilor’s old grievances in it, but Padmé’s vigor and compassion informs every policy.

If Naboo can reflect on the goodness of their hearts, she may have a chance.

Onaconda raises his glass, “Let me propose a toast: to Naboo’s future queen.”

“To Naboo’s future queen,” echoes Silya.

Ruwee takes up her hand and his glass, “To our daughter.”

\----------

Years upon years of seeing King Veruna diminished the majesty of the throne in Ruwee’s eyes. He saw a tired, despotic man dwarfed by a seat he was not worthy of.

Days away from her coronation, Padmé sits on the throne, signing endless datapads placed before her. Despite her lack of court dress, she looks as though she always belonged there.

“Your Highness.” He bows deferentially.

She looks up and scrunches up her nose, “Father.”

“You’ll have to get used to it, my dear.” Glancing down at the assemblage of datapads, “And what are you ordering today?”

“Not ordering so much as being ordered.”

Teasingly, “Already a victim of the system.”

“My captain of the guard thinks I should undergo defensive training along with my handmaidens. I’ll be meeting with Saché Lago in the morning to coordinate my schedule with theirs.” More to herself than him, “I hope I can shoot straight.”

She resumes busying herself with her work.

“I still cannot believe you’ve selected her as the head of your handmaiden cadre.”

“It would be unwise to alienate her family and besides, she isn’t nearly as horrid as she was in school.”

She puts down her stylus and looks up at him. Ruwee sees the doubt in her eyes and hears the waver in her as she speaks.

“I wish you were staying on the council.”

“Just as it is unwise to dismiss the Lagos, it would reflect poorly to the people. You have Bibble who is at least well-intentioned. Trust in those who tell you the truth, whether you will hear it or not.” He feels a lump grow in his throat. “More importantly, you have yourself. Soon, you’ll have no need for your old father anymore.”

Then teasingly, “Don’t you think after fifty years serving the crown I’ve earned retirement?”

Padmé laughs, wiping tears from her face.

“Do you and mother like your rooms?”

“Like? I’ve never slept in a finer bed in Theed! I yearn for the lake country, of course, but I will not say no to a room with a view of the palace!”

Curiosity overtakes him, “Have you decided on your regnal name?”

Padmé almost looks shy. A monarch’s chosen name is a deeply spiritual one, only revealed at the coronation by the pontifex overseeing the ceremony.

“Amidala.”

“The lake spirit?”

“Water is critical to our agriculture and the gungans’ very existence. I thought it would be a good choice; to show everyone that I mean to bring us together.”

He cannot think of a more fitting choice.

\----------

Her robes are heavy ( _and terribly scratchy_ ) and Pontifex Agolerga drones. The moment he places the headdress on her, Padmé fears she will be rendered completely immobile.

She grips the scepters harder than she intends.

“May the Goddess of Safety protect and Shiraya grant wisdom to Queen Amidala.”

Mother and father stand at the front of the masses, tears in their eyes.

Padmé cannot cry; her court makeup will run.

\----------

There is a knock at her door.

“Enter.”

Councilor Bibble steps in, shaking slightly.

“Your Highness, I’m afraid I bear terrible news.” Pausing, “Perhaps it would be better if you sent your handmaidens–”

Her stomach twists in fear ( _war, disaster, illness – what troubles her people?_ ), but her tone remains level, “Whatever it is, my handmaidens may hear as well.”

“It is your parents, your Highness. There’s been a speeder accident…”

He trails, unsure of what to say. Padmé feels herself sink slowly onto a couch, hands trembling, all feeling quickly going numb.

Faintly, in a voice that does not sound like her own, “Where?”

“The lake country.”

“And?”

He shakes his head sorrowfully.

She feels a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she sees Saché. She dimly thinks, “She lost her mother a year ago.”

They would not consider each other friends, they are only political allies by necessity, but they understand each other.

Padmé is an orphan now. Tomorrow is her eighteenth birthday.

\----------

Padmé stands at the edge of the dock long after the ashes are scattered. She barely listened to the last rites, to Senator Palpatine’s eulogy.

“Come in for supper, your Highness,” coaxes Rabé.

She eats mechanically. Rabé and Eirtaé ready her for bed like an immobile doll.

The quiet sounds of her handmaiden sleeping, once a soothing presence, only distract her from falling into a blissfully unaware sleep. She slips out of her childhood bed, down flights of stairs, and out doors until she faces her reflection in the moonlit lake.

She jumps; letting herself sink slowly to the bottom.

She prays and prays that Amidala will keep them in peace. ( _Her name mocks her._ )

A jolt runs through her body and she opens her eyes. It is too dark to see anything; she kicks off of the silty lake bottom.

Gasping for air, puffs of breath cloud around her; hair plastered to her face.

Her parents do not need her any more. She must learn to not need them.

Saché stands at the end of the dock, holding a towel. Padmé, shuddering against the cold, gratefully takes it.

“It will hurt less someday, Padmé.”

\----------

“Someone needs to take Senator Palpatine’s seat if he wins the Chancellorship. Should he, the seat will be vacated outside the bounds of my term as queen.”

Padmé pauses, looking at Onaconda, daring him to challenge her.

She has thought of running for the Galactic Senate for months now. Her work will be far from finished when her queenship expires. As a senator, she can further Naboo’s causes; further the causes of all sentient beings. The Trade Federation’s recent power grabs through contracts with dozens of systems rankles, but the Queen of Naboo is powerless.

“The senate does not play by the same rules as the Naboo electorate, my dear. Might I suggest–”

“Uncle Ono, if you think you’ll snap me up for your mentee, think again. I will not be a party to favoritism.”

He laughs, “So morally upright! Perhaps you’ll make the Senate play by your rules.”

“Don’t tease! I haven’t won, let alone begun my campaign!”

“Have no fear on that count. You’ll win. The people love you dearly and would gladly see you lead them for countless more years. Do you consider _that_ favoritism?”

“No. That’s the democratic process,” she retorts lightly.

Onaconda laughs again, impressed, “And you have snappy comebacks. You are more than ready for the Republic’s politics.”

She hopes there is more to being a senator than sparring with colleagues.

Onaconda continues thoughtfully, “Spending a few years on Coruscant will do you good. Your parents wanted you to see more of the galaxy than just Naboo.”

_To see more of the galaxy._

Padmé’s memories of Coruscant are scant. It has been a lifetime since mother and father took her on diplomatic business. To go back there will be as drawing back her mourning veil.

She kept her heart closed off since their deaths. She is ready to give it to the Republic.

\----------

Stepping out onto the Naboo seat for the first time, Padmé feels a rush of adrenaline as she has never felt before.

For all her good, Queen Amidala was made of artifice and ceremony.

Senator Amidala is as natural as floating away on the lake in the summer sun.

**Author's Note:**

> See author bio for discussion on this 'verse.


End file.
